Anything But Ordinary
by ToxikCherrys16
Summary: *COMPLETE* Q is a Holmes, and that means having a couple of annoying brothers. One just happens to be more trying then the other. (Fem!Q is a Holmes) Disclaimer - I DO NOT OWN JAMES BOND OR SHERLOCK. (The Youngest Holmes - Part 1/?)


**Hey guys and gals. I'm back with a new fandom. Hello to the new, and welcome back to the old. Thanks for sticking with me, cause I know I keep saying I'm gonna post something, and then end up posting another project.**

 **Anyway, this is just a little one shot I came up with, and that got my brain thinking onto another one. I've got a more manageable list of projects now, so it's easier to keep track of what I'm writing. Go me! First time ever that I've actually been ahead in writing something - which is my Marvel story. I'm almost a 3/4 of the way done.**

 **So, on with the story.** **Photo used is 'An odd planetary nebula in Hercules.'**

 **I used an image of Crystal Reed as inspiration for Q, and the picture can be found on my Tumblr. ToxikCherrys16 - How About A Nice Family Dinner.**

 **T.C**

 **~oOo~**

On a rainy, overcast day in November, I was walking down the streets of London on my lunch break, when I got the feeling that I was being followed by somebody. Now while I might not be as trained as most MI6 agents, I still knew how to evade capture, leave breadcrumbs and disappear without a trace – James made sure of that.

And while I may be young, I'm not stupid. MI6 had had their eyes on me since I was twelve and successfully managed to get past all their firewalls and hack all computers to play funny cat videos whenever they logged into their accounts. Needless to say, I was caught, but they offered me a job when they saw some of my ideas and drawings of computer parts and modifications.

I started working for Major Boothroyd almost immediately. I became R, and worked on my schoolwork at the same time as I was employed by SIS; even getting a Masters in Computer Science, Mechanics, and Engineering by the time I was twenty. While I wasn't as experienced, or as old as all the other employees of Q Branch, the Major had so much faith in me, that none of them argued with his choice of making me Second in Command.

By the time I was doing my last Masters at eighteen, Boothroyd had decided to step down from his position, leaving me to take over his position as Q, and becoming the youngest Quartermaster in MI6 history.

That's how I met James. I was sixteen when I was asked to deliver 007's weapons and mission folder. I thought I'd have some fun with the meeting place, and chose the National Gallery, before proceeding to tease him about not knowing who he was, and talking to him like a random stranger about Turner's 'The Fighting Temeraire' in Room 34. I still smiled at the memory.

It was after MI6's systems were hacked while I was trying to fix a problem – and got most of the information on me – that James decided to teach me how to defend myself from threats; giving me hand-to-hand combat and weapons training as soon as we found out what had gone missing.

So as soon as I knew I was being followed, it was time to put that training into action. I took the next turn I could and disappeared into the crowd of people who were on their lunch break and the normal tourists that you get hanging around London, no matter what time of year.

However, my efforts were in vain. Not even five minutes after I thought I'd lost my sneaky follower, he was back on my tail. I could've screamed, but that would've been a bad idea. I just needed to pretend that everything was okay, and not let my tail know that I know they were there. For all I knew, this was a test of Bond's.

But what if it wasn't? What if this was somebody who wanted to do me harm? Or somebody who was trying to find out where MI6 Headquarters were? Or somebody who wanted to use me for nothing but evil? I knew that the one who had hacked my information was dead, but you could never be too careful.

A hand touched my shoulder, and I whipped round; punching them in the stomach. The man let out a gasp, and I saw a mop of curly black hair before they hit the ground with a grunt.

Another man came running over, but he was shorter than the man who was currently on the ground. He was wearing jeans and a jumper, with a jacket that had a lot of packets. He was also out of breath from all of the running.

"Sherlock, you ass!" I shouted, taking in his prone form on the ground; his long, black coat spread out around him.

"Quentin. Really?" He asked, standing up and dusting himself off, "Is that really any way to greet me after seeing me in so long? I thought your manners were suppose to be better than Mycroft's."

"Not when you're following me." I scolded him, "There are better ways of contacting me, you do realize that, right? Like texting, or calling? Maybe even a letter in the post, or turning up on my doorstep. Hell, you could even try a carrier pigeon."

The other man just stared at us, probably trying to figure out how we knew each other. I could tell that he was jealous though, given his body language, and the fact that he was staring daggers at me.

"I have to get back to work, Sherlock." I started walking backwards, "Because, unlike you, I actually have a paying job, that requires me to be on time."

"Hey! I have a job." He yelled indignantly, following me.

"Never said you didn't. Only that you weren't paid or have a schedule that you have to keep to. Mycroft puts money into your account every month." I smiled slightly, seeing a confused look come over his features, "Be seeing you, Doctor Watson."

As I was walking away, could vaguely hear John asking how I knew his name, and Sherlock telling him not to worry about it. Oh, how I loved being mysterious.

 **~oOo~**

The next time I saw Sherlock, was on my way home from work a few days later. I really wasn't in the mood – I hadn't been home in four days, only had about two hours sleep, and hadn't had a shower either – and now I had to interact with him. Even on the best of days, Sherlock was a handful. It's like trying to handle a toddler, who's having a tantrum because things aren't going his way.

"Not now, Sherlock." I picked up the pace, hoping that he would get the message, but who was I trying to kid? He'd never get that message, "Now is really not a good time to annoy me."

"It's never a good time for you, Quentin. You're always working." He matched my pace, damn his long legs, "But this is important and… Why do you smell? And, are you wearing the same clothes?

"You're one hell of a detective." Giving in to the fact that there was going to be no way of getting rid of him just yet, "But yes. Why, you may ask, well I'm glad you asked. I've been at work since we last saw each other, and this is the first time I've been outside since then. Now, I'm cranky, hungry, and just want to sleep in my own bed, instead of napping on the sofa in my office."

"No need to be in a bad mood about it." I gave him the evilest look I could and wrapping my arms round my body, because the weather chose now, at all times, to start tipping it down.

And you could call me so smart because I had forgotten my jacket in my haste to actually rejoin society, and sleep in my own bed. It was draped over the chair in my office, and M had most likely gone home, Eve was on some assignment in Japan, and James was currently on a plane from Italy.

Wordlessly, Sherlock removed his coat and held it out to me. Even though I looked like a child in it, I took the coat and put it on. At least it would keep me warm, and I wouldn't be completely drenched by the time I got home.

"He does have a heart." I joked, putting my hands in the pockets.

"Mycroft would have my head if you got sick because I didn't give it to you. You hold an 'important job in the government' and it would 'be a tragedy if you were taken ill.' His words." He shrugged, "Speaking of your job, how is what's his name? Johnny?"

"James. And he's very well." I told him, trying to stop his coat from trailing on the ground, "But I know that you haven't been stalking me to ask that. The answer is still no, but you are earning brownie points."

"So, what? Good behaviour gets me in your good books or something?"

"Precisely. Thanks for the loan." I took off the coat, and handed it back to him when we got to my flat; opening the communal door, "See you next time you decide to stalk me."

My flat was a nice place, with three big bedrooms – although one of them was a study – and the lounge and kitchen were connected, only separated by a line of counters. I'd bought it because of where it was, and all the little cubbyholes that I could hide things in. That pleased James when he moved in after his own flat had been sold when he'd been reported dead.

When I opened the door, my two kittens, Earl and Grey, greeted me – I didn't pick their names, James did – who came bounding up to me. Eve had come by every day to make sure they had fresh food and water, while I was working.

"Dad's going to be home soon." I told them, taking off my shoes and picking them up; taking them into the study to put my bag away, "I know he's been missing you two, almost as much as he's been missing me. But he talks to me a lot."

They just looked at me with these bright blue eyes, before jumping from the chair I'd placed them to remove my bag, and walked out the open study door. They don't see me in days, and they act like it's my fault.

I decided to put a pizza in the oven, so it could cook while I was in the shower. By the time I got out, dried and dressed, it should be ready to eat and to be honest, I was just happy that I would be eating off of a plate in my home, instead of having take-out in a carton at my desk.

And just as I was getting the food out of the oven, my hair still damp, James walked through the door; a small duffel bag slung over his shoulder and looking tired after the latest mission.

"Ah, Bond." I leaned against the counter top, fully aware that I was only in my underwear, some knee-high socks, and one of his button-down shirts, "If I knew you were going to be home only a short while before me, I would've waited to have my shower. We could've had it together."

"My dear, Q. There is nothing to stop us from doing that anyway."

"But there is… My food will get cold."

"That's a shame." He walked over and kissed me; leaving his bag by the door, "We do, however, have the next three weeks off, so there's plenty of time. Want to do dinner and a movie?"

 **~oOo~**

The third time Sherlock decided to annoy me, I was in a restaurant, on a date with James, for our two-year anniversary. James and I had gotten closer, when he was teaching me how to defend myself in case I was attacked, and it's not like we weren't close before, it was just a different kind of close.

However Sherlock didn't care about where we were, or who I was with, he only cared about getting the answer he wanted. He could easily get that from the Internet, but apparently, it was a lot more entertaining to annoy his younger sister until she finally snapped. That's me by the way.

"Quentin, please. Do I need to get on my knees, cause I will." He had consorted to begging now, "I need to know the answer."

"Do we have to do it _now_?"

"Yes, it's important. Please? You're my favorite sister."

"I'm your only sister."

He pulled up a chair and sat down at our table. "You're my favorite sibling then. I _need_ to know how he did it. How did the cowboy ride into town on Friday, stay three days, and then leave on Friday? It makes no sense."

"The horse's name is Friday, Sherlock. He rode into town on the horse."


End file.
